But Angie couldn’t hear him.
There was a bile rising in her throat, so powerful she barely managed to swallow it back. A bone curling realization followed right on it’s heels, blasting into her mind like a nuclear bomb, so foreign in it’s intensity that Angie could hardly let herself believe it.
Photo still clutched in her hand, she turned away from Roman’s bewildered face and moved out of the kitchen, hurrying into the living room and snatching up her bag. With trembling hands she pulled out her laptop, one of the few of her possessions that had been spared a fiery death.
Eyebrows pulled tight, she dropped to her knees and laid her laptop on the recliner, shoving the machine open.
She immediately pulled up the streetlight footage that had been haunting her dreams for weeks, and fast-forwarded to the frame where the Blacks had been fatally struck.
Freezing the image, she held the photo of Roman and his brothers next to the screen, horrified to see that the vehicle in the video was an exact replica of the one sitting in the background of the photo she clutched in her hand.
“Holy fuck,” she wheezed.
It was the same car.
“Holy fuck.”
A white Cadillac, with a purple flame down the side, a white Cadillac whose registration from ten years ago had been, suspiciously, wiped clean, a white Cadillac that had, apparently, once belonged to the Romanovsky family.
“Holy fuck.”
“Holy fuck what? What are you looking at?”
Angie slammed the laptop shut just as Roman came to a stop behind the recliner, looking down at her with concerned eyes.
Her terrified gaze rose up to him.
“You don’t even look like you’ve seen a ghost, you look like you’ve seen five.” The amusement in Roman’s eyes slowly vanished, however, replaced with genuine concern.
Angie couldn’t speak. She couldn’t breathe. As realization washed over her and, finally, acceptance, she wasn’t sure she would ever breathe again.
15
Later that night, Angie looked across her parent’s kitchen, taking in her mother’s waist length black hair and smooth caramel skin. She followed the path her mother’s long eyelashes made atop her lowered eyelids, her serene smile. The older woman was putting all of her focus on the onions she was chopping, oblivious to her daughter’s admirations.
Joyce Colt truly was a beautiful woman, and had hardly aged a day since college. Angie studied her profile, amazed. They were almost finished cooking dinner, and her mother had yet to ask the burning question that was always on the tip of her tongue.
Never one to disappoint, however, Joyce suddenly looked up from her onions.
“Mija, weren’t you telling me about some new boyfriend?”
“No.”
Joyce squinted as she rubbed her hands along the hot pink apron that was currently protecting the long-sleeved mini dress she wore. She was petite like Angie, and even though she was pushing 45, she still did most of her shopping in the junior’s section.
Joyce frowned. “I’m pretty sure you did, Mija. Yes, you said he was the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen.”
Angie gritted her teeth.
“Should I be preparing a third place setting tonight?”
Angie’s jaw tightened. She’d definitely given her mother the benefit of the doubt a touch too soon. She yearned for her father, who was currently overseas for work. He would’ve jumped into the conversation right around this point, chiding Joyce for asking Angie so many invasive questions.
“Will you let the girl live, Joyce?” is what he would’ve said.
Angie pressed her lips together as she preheated the oven, moving over to the fridge to gather hamburger buns and condiments.
Her hands shook at the thought of Roman.
After making the chilling discovery in his apartment, she’d managed to play it cool until he disappeared upstairs for a shower. Then, she’d gathered all of her things—including the photo that had made her hair stand on end, and got the hell out of his apartment.
If she really had snuck out on him a million times, then today would mark a million and one.
She’d come straight to her mom’s house, and had been staring at her Joyce’s beautiful face since. Angie had never needed Joyce like she needed her that night. Like a child, she was afraid, but somehow, being next to Joyce made her feel like everything was going to be okay. So she pushed in close, even as her mother pried into her life. It wasn’t until she felt the side of their arms brushing that Angie could breathe, again, getting to work preparing their turkey burgers.
From next to Angie, Joyce enjoyed the rare closeness, smiling at her secretly.
“What’s his name?…” Joyce sang.
Angie chopped the lettuce with a little too much vigor. The chilling discovery she’d made at Roman’s apartment hours before had scared the life out of her. It had almost sent her flying out of his front door, never to look back. Thankfully, her common sense had kicked in before that happened.
The vehicle that belonged to the Romanovsky family was the same vehicle that had struck Zoey’s parents dead. That was a fact. As terrifying as that was for Angie, she knew she couldn’t allow that fact to cloud her judgment. Her logic. And her logic told her she needed to keep Roman close. She needed to keep all the Romanovskys close.
So she’d played it cool until he’d disappeared upstairs to take a shower. For all he knew, she’d left his apartment to follow up on some new work lead.
He wouldn’t be wrong.
It broke her heart that he was her new worked lead. She no longer thought of Roman, and saw an unrequited love.
No. She now thought of Roman… and saw a suspect.
A prime suspect.
She had to keep him close, but right now, the chills running up and down her spine, non-stop, were proving too powerful to tolerate. They were almost unbearable.
So she focused on getting ingredients together for their turkey burgers. Angie wondered if the photo she’d found in Roman’s apartment had put her in a state of shock.
She felt like it hadn’t hit her.
Perhaps she didn’t really believe it.
She sighed. That was it. She didn’t really believe it. She didn’t want to.
If Roman had been behind the wheel of the car that night, why would he be so anxious to let her keep a photo with him standing right next to the evidence? Better yet, if Roman had been behind the wheel of the car that night, why would he have alerted her to the fact that she’d had the wrong street name all those months ago? Surely, if he was the man who’d killed the Blacks, he would never correct a piece of information that could put his freedom at risk, and he would certainly never share a photo with proof of his crime, let alone have it magnetized to his fridge.
Right?
Having stopped chopping the lettuce in mid-slice, her eyes moved like a scanner as her brain worked overtime. She couldn’t turn off what she felt for him, but she wasn’t blind to the fact that what she felt for him was now causing her to search for justification, any justification, that would explain away the possibility that the man she loved had killed two people.
“Baby girl!” Joyce snapped her fingers in front of her face with a laugh.
“His name is Roman,” Angie finally said. “And he was never my boyfriend, so no… a third place setting will not be necessary.”
“Maybe next time.”
“No.” Angie caught herself before her voice rose any higher. “Not this time, not next time, not ever.”
She hated the pity she immediately saw in Joyce’s eyes, feeling mortified to watch her mother mourn yet another failed relationship in her life. As Angie prepared herself for Joyce’s infamous pity-speech, she was distracted by the sight of her mother’s eyes travelling out of the kitchen and towards the open door of the apartment.
They’d been forced to open every door and window earlier in the night when, after accidentally burning the first round of turkey patties, Joyce had
nearly smoked the place out.
The smoke had long dissipated, but they’d forgotten to close the door.
“Well, hello there,” Joyce said.
Angie looked up at her mother in surprise, wondering who she was talking to in that flirtatious tone. She turned, following Joyce’s smiling eyes to the door.
Roman lingered in the open doorway with a bottle of wine cradled in his hands.
Angie’s mouth dropped as Joyce nearly blew past her, with all the grace of a linebacker, hurrying towards Roman.
“Hello.” He smiled politely at Joyce as she approached, then moved his eyes back over to Angie, who was still shocked stupid in the kitchen. The moment his eyes met Angie's, his polite smile grew personal, intense--like he knew all of her darkest secrets--in an instant.
Chills ran up and down Angie’s arms.
How had he found out where her mother lived?
A few hours away from him had been enough to almost pull herself out of the black hole of denial she quickly found herself falling through whenever she was in his presence. Against all of her will, she could already feel her common sense slowly chipping away, just looking into his eyes.
She closed her own eyes, and tried to shake herself out of it. She tried to allow the glass half empty sector of her mind to remind her of what she was dealing with.
A Romanovsky killed Zoey’s parents, and there’s no way to know that the man standing in that doorway isn’t the one who did it.
Angie’s eyes flew open. Her good sense was making a comeback, and she suddenly raced to the door, after Joyce, shooting accusing eyes at Roman as she came to a stop behind her.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Angie asked, her voice trembling.
Joyce looked over her shoulder at Angie with wide, crazy eyes.
“Now that is no way to speak to company, Angelica Colt.” Joyce looked back to the Roman. “I raised her better, I swear it.”
“You did a beautiful job.” His smiling eyes went back to Angie.
Joyce suddenly gasped dramatically. “You brought wine!” she beamed. “For us?”
Roman presented the bottle. “I hope you like Pino Grigio.”
Angie raised an eyebrow. Her mother hated Pino Grigio.
“We love Pino Grigio, mi amor. Come in, come in.”
Angie had to bite her tongue as Joyce waved Roman in. If her mother wanted Roman’s cock any more, she may as well have gone ahead and tattooed it to her forehead.
“You must be the famous Roman.” Joyce let his name slide off her tongue real slow, closing the door as Roman stepped in.
“Guilty as charged.”
“It’s such a pleasure to meet you.” Joyce’s eyes, and body, followed Roman as he stepped into the apartment, stealing a look at his ass, which was filling out the black slacks he wore even better than usual.
Roman turned and met her gaze. “And you must be…” He faltered, motioning to her.
“Joyce,” her mother cried, presenting the back of her hand.
Like the gentleman he was, Roman took it, and pressed his lips to it softly.
Joyce gasped audibly.
Angie had to roll her eyes.
“Joyce, my name is Joyce.” Joyce took a deep, much needed breath. “Angie’s told me all about you. Muy guapo, Mija.” Joyce turned to Angie and nudged her several times, wagging her eyebrows a bit too excessively.
Roman looked to Angie. “Angie’s told you all about me, huh?”
“No, I haven’t--”
“Yes, she has--”
“How did you find this house? Why did you come?” Angie asked, barely able to bite her tongue to keep from asking what she really wanted to ask.
Did you kill two people ten years ago?
Do you know anyone who did?
If she’d learned anything about the Romanovsky brothers in the time she’d known them, it was that, regardless of their ups and downs, they had each other’s back. The word ‘rat’ was not in their vocabulary, and they’d happily bleed their last drop before they saw any danger befall one of their own, even if their own was dead ass wrong, even if their own had blood on their hands.
“Why wouldn’t I come?” he responded, breaking Angie out of her reverie.
“Do you like turkey burgers, Roman?” Joyce asked in a motherly voice that completely betrayed the sex-starved gleam that had been present in her eyes since the moment he’d arrived.
“I do. Very much.”
“I know big, strong men like you love their beef, but us ladies, we have to watch our figures, you know? If I had known you were coming…” Joyce nudged Angie again, with a little more force than necessary this time. “I would have prepared something a bit more hearty.”
Angie nearly asked her mother what she’d ‘prepared’ outside of the turkey patties she’d charred black. Sensing that Roman’s presence had her mother on the very verge of losing her mind, Angie bit her tongue.
“No really…. Turkey is great. I’m watching my figure, too,” he joked.
But Joyce wasn’t joking. “Oh we can see that.”
Angie was dying. Her mother was absolutely mortifying.
“Thank you.” He shrugged off his coat, arms pushing against his black button down as he turned away from them, hanging it on the rack next to the door.
From the corner of her eye, Angie caught Joyce’s shameless and unabashed voyage of Roman’s body the moment he turned his back, so she wasn’t surprised when Joyce finally turned to her with her mouth and eyes both wide open.
“Wow,” Joyce mouthed, green eyes going to twice their size.
The moment Roman turned back to them, the lust disappeared from Joyce’s face like a seasoned pro.
“Do you mind if I use the restroom?” he asked, his deep voice carrying across the room.
Now entranced by his large arms, Joyce was no longer able to hide her appreciation of his beauty. With a thick swallow she was sure everyone in the room heard, Joyce pointed her knife clad hand towards the guest bathroom.
She waited for Roman to disappear inside of it before she turned back to Angie, mouth falling once more.
“I know,” Angie said, watching the closed bathroom door with a frown.
“That is Roman?”
“I know.”
“He is…”
“He is.”
“How did you?…”
“I don’t know.”
“Baby, I am so proud of you.”
“All of the things I’ve accomplished in my life, Mom, and this is what makes you proud? That I’m banging some hot guy?”
Joyce pointed her knife towards the bathroom. “Angelica, that is not a hot guy. That is a Greek sculpture.” Joyce finally sobered up, and returned to the kitchen. She bumped her shoulder against Angie’s when her daughter came up next to her, shoulder to shoulder, with her head bowed.
“It’s not serious,” Angie mumbled, fingering a slice of tomato up from the plate on the counter before taking a bite. And he might be a killer. All signs point to yes, but my pussy won’t let me believe it. “It’s just a casual thing.”
“I see,” Joyce said, setting Roman’s plate aside before going to work on one for Angie. “And is that okay with you?”
Angie looked up. “Not really.”
“So do something about it.”
“What am I supposed to do, Mom? You saw him. You said it yourself, he’s a Grecian statue. The moment he decides to walk out and find a matching female Grecian statue, he will, and they’ll be nothing I can say or do to stop him.”
“You are a female Grecian statue.”
“If female Grecian statues are suddenly flat-chested and emaciated, yeah. Maybe.”
“You’ve always been blessed with lightening fast metabolism. That’s God, honey.” Joyce snapped, and then pulled at the skin on Angie’s slim waist.
“Stop,” Angie smiled.
“You have to stop being so negative and down on yourself. You need to realize what a beautiful, amazing wo
man you are.” Joyce watched her daughter roll her eyes, and dropped the knife. “No,” she said, taking Angie’s arms and forcing her daughter to look at her. “You. Are. Beautiful. There’s not a Grecian statue on the planet that will ever compare.”
Angie tried to keep an even tone passed her blushing cheeks and melting heart. “Thanks for the obligatory mom speech.”
“Not obligatory. Truth. And to hell with anyone who looks at you and sees different. Don’t thank me for telling the truth. Now, help me set this table.”
They went to work getting the table set up.
“How’s work?” Joyce asked.
Angie didn’t know where to begin, because she could tell that her mother had already fallen completely in love with Roman Romanovsky.
And he was officially one of her prime suspects.
***
An hour later, with a stomach full of turkey burgers to drive him, Roman’s biceps fought a battle against the seams of his white undershirt, and almost won. With a groan from the deepest part of him, he gave the desk in his grasp one last, valiant push, before dropping it to the floor and bracing himself against the cool wood. His abs contracted under his shirt with every heaving breath he took, but he did his best to hide it as his eyes rose to the two women watching him from across the room.
“Here?” he breathed, raising his eyebrows.
Joyce massaged her chin, squinting shrewdly at the desk that Roman had moved across the room for the third time that afternoon.
“I don’t know, Roman… Gosh. Now that I see it in this corner, I feel like it would really look better in that corner.” Joyce pointed to the farthest corner of the room, sighed, and looked back to him, raising her eyebrows in mock apology. “Would you mind, doll?”
Angie cut a look at her mother from where they stood side-by-side, now supremely aware of why Joyce was putting Roman to work. The room was sweltering. He’d already removed his jacket and button down shirt. If Joyce pushed him much farther, he would surely have to remove his t-shirt, as well. The last remaining piece of cloth left, the last remaining barrier to his naked chest.
Claiming Roman Page 26
